Waste
by Sweetlittlenina
Summary: Everyday that you want to waste, you can. Everyday that you want to change, I'll help you see it through cuz I just really want to be with you. After Mockingjay, pre-epilogue.
1. Chapter 1

Hi everyone, this is my first fanfiction. Enjoy.

Not finished yet.

I don't own _The Hunger Games_ or the song "Waste" by Foster the People, which inspired this story.

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_Everyday that you want to waste, you can._

I sit on the living room couch, staring into the red and orange flames dancing and kissing on a bed of firewood. Orange was Peeta's favorite color. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to remember how his fingers had tightened around my throat or how the friendly, beautiful blue in his eyes had turned against me and surrendered into a black abyss. Instead, I concentrate on how I kissed him that night in the cave and the night on the beach during the Quarter Quell. I try to reach out to the fire in my belly, eagerly adding to it by feeding it wonderful memories. I feel an ember slowly climb up, but Peeta's black eyes cut right through my mental process. His harsh black eyes in my mind cause mine to open and I let out a gasp of defeat. He doesn't want me anymore. He would never be the same.

I stay on the couch everyday all day except for when I hear Greasy Sae's familiar shuffling footsteps on my doorstep. We eat in silence. I help to clean the dishes and put them away, but always in silence. She leaves and I continue my trance on the couch. After I hear my own frequent yawns I retreat to my bedroom and surrender myself to the nightmares I deserve.

I hear Peeta next door. Dropping heavy boxes, opening and closing his door. During a normal quiet dinner, Greasy Sae mentions that Peeta has moved back here to District 12. She sneaks a peek at me, then looks away because she doesn't expect a reaction from me anymore. However, she doesn't see my eyes flit up to her in surprise. I quickly glance down at my food again, avoiding conversation once more.

After some weeks, Greasy Sae tells me Peeta has been baking. He bakes bread for her and Haymitch. I don't expect him to offer any to me. Then one day I hear the doorbell ring. The welcoming chime is a strange occurrence. If Greasy Sae delivers my meals she usually just knocks once and lets herself in. Haymitch hardly ever visits me. Nevertheless, I don't move from my seated position on the couch. I hear Peeta's heavy footsteps as he walks away from my door. Minutes later I hear his door shut. Only then do I push myself up from my safe abode and open my door. Lying on my front step is a plate with two loaves of bread. I bend down to pick it up when I see a flash of blonde hair and a swishing curtain in Peeta's upstairs window.

And that's what I do everyday. Wake up, eat with Greasy Sae, sit on the couch, and accept Peeta's bread. One day I hear his heavy, clumsy steps approach my porch. In a spur of the moment action, I push myself away from the couch and stride to open the door just as he's about to set down the bread.

I open the door all the way and see his tired blue eyes open wide at my gesture. I never answer the door after all. I try to smile. "Hi."

Peeta takes in my appearance. I wonder what he thinks of my disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes, and pale skin. His eyes roam over my face before I look down at the plate of bread in his hands. He hands it to me and I take it. His wavy blonde hair is tangled but looks recently washed. His skin isn't pale like mine, but isn't glowing either. There are fresh burn scars on his hands and I find myself staring at them.

"Burn scars," Peeta says sheepishly as he examines the marks himself. I find myself thinking about another time, when burn scars meant you had been running through an arena of forests with fireballs aimed for your head. "I've been trying to get back into my baking." His voice brings me back to the present.

I nod. Silence. The plate of bread in my hands smells good. I wonder if he smells like bread. He always smells like bread. Peeta turns and points his thumb back to his house. "I should go."

He doesn't leave though. He can tell I want to say something. _Say, 'I've missed you'. 'Thanks for the bread'. Anything, _the voice in the back of my head pushes me. I look down at the two loaves sitting on the white china.

"Are you hungry?"


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the second chapter guys! I'm so thankful for those who have read this story, reviewed it, and added it to their alerts and favorites. It makes me so happy. :)

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_I'll hold your hand when you are feeling mad at me._

I'm at Peeta's house for dinner. Being near him and seeing his blue eyes has helped me. I shower every day and I usually find something clean to wear. On good days, when it's sunny and crisp outside, when I can practically hear the quiet footsteps of fresh game in the forest, and when I feel like I can get through the day, I earn Peeta's smiles. He smiles at me of course, but rarely the wide, crinkly smile that lights up his cerulean-colored eyes and makes me feel a thump in the pit of my stomach. The ones that I saw every day that I took for granted.

I quickly cut up the fresh greens that Greasy Sae had dropped off while Peeta moves the cooked meat from the hot pan to a platter. I haven't hunted yet, despite Greasy Sae's quiet, well-placed hints. Instead, Greasy Sae drops off meat for Peeta that he pays her for.

Peeta and I sit down to eat quietly. He always sits on the end of the table and I sit next to him. I quickly grab a dinner roll from the basket in front of us and take a big bite.

"Hungry?' he asks as he watches me with amused eyes. He smiles lightly.

I stick my tongue out at him and take another bite, smaller this time.

He's still chuckling as he looks down to cut into his meat. I raise my eyes from my plate and glance at him. His wavy blonde hair is going to need a hair cut soon and his blonde lashes are thick. He doesn't look as gaunt as he did when he first arrived to the district. We've both put on some weight, although I still hardly eat at meals. I've seen Greasy Sae and Peeta take in the sight of my sticky-out elbows and frail arms before offering me more food.

It wasn't always like this. We've been having dinner together for about a week now. The first night, Greasy Sae was with us and commanded most of the conversation. Despite her attempts and general questions to get us talking, the dinner table was mostly silent. Peeta would often look at me and I would respond by staring straight into my plate of food and chewing without any expression. Then, on the third night, at dinner at Peeta's house, something changed. While Greasy Sae and Peeta cooked diligently in the kitchen, exchanging quiet, friendly remarks, I strolled into his living room. He had a painting of a small, chestnut-colored goat with a pink ribbon around its neck hanging by the window. My heart flooded with warmth. I could see Prim rushing out to our backyard to milk Lady, her goat. I remember how Prim had nursed Lady back to health when I brought her home for Prim's birthday.

And Peeta remembered.

The Peeta now, post-hijacking must have remembered a memory from the old Peeta, the Peeta from the cave. Maybe he remembers other things. Like how wonderful he thought I was. Or how he'd hold me every night on the train. Or how he used to love me.

_Don't cry_, the little voice in my head pleaded. _Wait until you get home. _

So I didn't. But when I walked into the dining room and sat down next to Peeta, I felt something new. New hope. Hope that even though we were both broken beyond repair, there were just enough pieces of both of us to come together, and make a new whole.

"The soup is really good," I had said quietly, looking up first at Greasy Sae, then Peeta. I let my spoon fall into the liquid again before bringing it to my lips and drinking appreciatively.

Greasy Sae's eyes widened and her eyebrows shot up before she regained her composure. The corners of her mouth turned up as she looked down. "Yes, the boy here made it."

I glanced at Peeta and flushed. He had already been gazing at me, his sapphire-colored eyes filled with questions. Questions I wasn't ready to answer. _How are you feeling? Did you miss me? Why did you speak all of a sudden? Do you love me? Did I love you?_ "I like it." Peeta's eyes lit up before he stared down into his own bowl. "Thanks, Katniss."

And after that night, I slowly let down my wall. The next day, I asked Greasy Sae how her granddaughter was doing. On another night, I told Peeta I could cut the onions while he would finish cooking the rest of the greens. Then, I found myself asking Peeta how he was doing, and about his paintings. Greasy Sae stopped eating dinner with us, and to give us privacy, just left our meals in our kitchen of the night before leaving. It was progress.

I'm brought back to the present as Peeta stands up to put his dishes in the sink. He rejoins me at the table. "How have you been doing?" he asks me this question every night. And I reply the same every time.

"Alright."

He accepts it and the corners of his mouth turn down.

I say, "How about you?"

Peeta nods. "The same."

And that's how we describe our days to each other. We never mention nightmares or flashbacks. I don't even know if he's still having flashbacks. When we've had dinner together for the past week he never looked like he was in pain, or that he wanted to choke me because I was a mutt that killed his family.

I felt jealous. I felt like he was improving more than me. While he baked and talked to people in town, I sat at home staring into that same fireplace every day. While he was ready to move on, I was still living in the past. I think in order to move forward, I need him. But he doesn't need me, I see that.

Peeta stands up abruptly. "It's late. You should go." He takes my plate and puts it in his sink, then stands there with his back to me. He offers no more words of goodbye.

I blink once, twice, before flushing and pushing back my chair. It's obvious he doesn't want my company. Why would he want to have dinner with the sad, broken girl who doesn't seem to take any interest in him? I walk to his front door and leave quietly.

That night, I don't sleep at all. I find myself tangled in my sheets, thinking of the nights on the train with Peeta.

I had nightmares then, but Peeta would make them better, more bearable. We would lie in my bed, just us, protecting each other from the nightmares that would claim us. If I woke up, all it'd take would be a few, comforting words from Peeta and the strength of his arms for me to calm. I can still feel his strong arms around me. Those arms made me feel safe. I miss those arms. I miss his face. I miss his rosy cheeks in the cold, like before we left District 12 to depart for the Victory Tour. I miss how he'd smile at me like he'd be content to stare at me forever. And I miss how he'd kiss me, as if he was still surprised he had permission to do so.

All of a sudden, I hear the sound of plates breaking next door. I rush to my open window and I see that Peeta's is open too. Only his bedroom room is lit. I hear another crash of china before I run down to his house, still in my t-shirt and pajama bottoms.

I open his unlocked door and survey his house. It still smells like bread. I walk into his kitchen and see shattered plates lying beside the wall. My breathing hikes as I walk up the stairs. "Peeta?"

I stride down his hallway before pushing open the partly open door to his study. His study is filled with paintings. It's too dark for me to see anything, so I flip the light switch. A few of his canvases has been thrown down onto the floor. An easel lay snapped beside me. Peeta is sitting in the corner, his body curled into the fetal position. He doesn't seem to register my presence before I walk and sit on the floor next to him.

"Peeta." I try to say. He lifts his head and opens his eyes. They're cold and black.

"Stay away from me, mutt. Or I'll kill you." Peeta's eyes flash from black to blue repeatedly. He looks as if he's about to outstretch his arms around me, in that all to familiar position I remembered in his hospital room, before he wraps his arms around each other and tightens his jaw. He's fighting it.

"Peeta. This isn't real. I won't hurt you." I almost reach out to stroke his cheek, but then I think the better of it.

He looks up with, his eyes still flashing from blue to black. "Oh? Then why did you pretend to love me? Why did you kill my family?" There's a half-broken glass jar next to him that he must have used to put his paintbrushes in. Peeta picks it up by the unbroken side and leans forward, as if he's going to strike me with it. I flinch and lean back, not prepared to venture head-on into a battle. But apparently not, because he shuts his eyes once more and holds his breath.

My eyes flood with tears. It's true. Although I didn't kill his family, my actions did. If I hadn't fueled the rebellion maybe they'd still be here. Maybe Prim would still be here. "It's not real, Peeta. Please come back to me."

Peeta squeezes his eyes shut and I worry that he's still holding his breath. He's clenching his fists together so hard that his knuckles are white. Finally, after an agonizing two minutes, he lets out a gasping breath and opens his eyes. His eyes dart around the room first, then land on me and then widen. "Did I hurt you?" he scans over me quickly before wincing at examining the glass stuck in his hand.

I shake my head. _Not physically. _

He looks at me once more, then his eyes find the floor. "I'm sorry you had to see that." He looks ashamed.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I find myself saying. He could've come to me. I could've helped to calm him down.

"I don't want you to have to take care of me. I'm a mess," he responds.

"Well, I'm a mess too! I could've helped you! How often does this happen?"

Peeta hesitates. "Occasionally."

"How often this week?"

"Every night."

I pick myself up from the floor and head for the door. Peeta scrambles up to follow me. "Katniss, I don't want you to see me like this. You're already dealing with so much, and I don't think you can-"

"I can handle it, Peeta! I can handle your pain. The world can handle more pain. I can take it."

"Then why are you angry?" His eyebrows are scrunched together and there's anguish in his voice.

"I'm angry because you've been keeping so much of yourself from me lately.." I stop before I realize I'm a hypocrite. I had been keeping so much of myself from him during the games. Pretending to love him, not sharing my thoughts and feelings.

Peeta grabs my hand just as I reach for the door knob. "Please stay. I'm sorry, it's just." His blue eyes are teary. "I just.. hate how broken we are." He looks like a lost little boy. The blonde hair that once fell in soft waves is tangled, and a mess. He doesn't look like the sturdy, broad-shouldered boy that I made him out to be; instead he looks somewhat frail. He looks like a boy that just lost everything: his home, his family. And he has.

In that moment, I realize that Peeta is hurting just as much as I am. Sure, he bakes and talks to others, but he hasn't put himself back together yet. He can't. He's just putting on a better face than I am. I take Peeta's arm and lead him to the kitchen. I remove the shard of glass in his hand. He winces, but I continue to turn on the sink and run the cut over water. Then I bandage it up. I wordlessly hand him some bread on the counter and make him sit and drink a warm glass of milk, the same thing we drank on the Victory Tour. While he's eating, I sweep up the broken remains of his plates and throw them in his trash can. Then, I lead him up to his room and sit with him on his bed.

He lies down and I stroke his hair. I see a flash of blue glance up at me, before his eyelids slowly close and his hand finds mine. I flinch because I haven't felt any form of physical affection in a while, but then I enclose my fingers with his. He falls asleep soon after that and I don't want to wake him. Which is why I slipped off my shoes and pulled the covers over me. As I lie on my side and face him, examining every detail of his face from his smooth eyelids to his strong jawline, I try to think how we're ever going to piece ourselves back together again. And I slowly fall asleep, with Peeta's warm hand still wrapped in mine.

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_I'd really appreciate a review! Hit that blue button down there! :)_

_TBC._


	3. Chapter 3

Hi guys, thank you so much to take the time out to review this story! It means a lot. Thank you again to everyone who's added it to their story alerts and favorites.

Keep in mind that the words at the beginning of the story in italics are lyrics to "Waste" by Foster the People. I don't own it, or _The Hunger Games_.

Here's chapter three.

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_Yeah when the monsters they won't go and your windows won't close, I'll pretend to see what you see.__  
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I'm standing in the Meadow. I know I'm dreaming because I don't see the graveyard where the remains of people from 12 are buried. Instead, small yellow flowers blow kisses to the tall trees. A cool breeze whispers secrets to the swaying green grass. I close my eyes and feel the forest that I fell in love with over five years ago.  
I open my eyes when I don't feel the sun warming my skin anymore. I leap back in surprise when I see Finnick right in front of my face. But he seems different. His hair was still blonde and his beauty is intact, but he looks darker. And his sea-green eyes that used to make thousands of women swoon are coal black. In his hands is a golden trident, poised and ready to strike me. I feel my heart ramming in my chest. All my instincts are telling me to run, and run now. But I don't.

It's just a dream, I tell myself firmly. A bad dream.

I close my eyes and when I open them again, Cinna stands beside Finnick. He wears modest, all black clothes like he did when I first met him. His gold eyeliner emphasizes his dark, clouded eyes that stare at me with pure hate. He sneers at me and lunges forward with Finnick. I step back, and feel something hot behind me. There's a huge, Capitol-made fire only inches from my back. I skitter into the opposite direction, away from Cinna and Finnick. They take small steps towards me when another figure appears out of the fire. A tiny, delicate girl skips forward, her arms outstretched like wings. My heart pounds, then drops into my stomach. Rue. I remember weaving flowers into her thick hair when she died. Her eyes are murky as well and a small slingshot is already loaded in her delicate hands.

I turn around and the fire is everywhere now. The flames are trapping us in a circle. I whirl back around to face my attackers and I stop breathing. There stands my baby sister. My beautiful little sister that was dead.

Prim's long blonde hair is braided back into pig tails and she wears the same thing she did at the Reaping. My old blouse was always going to be a bit big for her. This wasn't my baby sister though. Her eyes aren't the familiar cerulean. They're pitch black. I want to scream.

Prim steps forward, away from the rest of them. "Why didn't you try to save me Katniss? I'm dead now," she says coldly. "And it's your fault."

Cinna, Finnick, and Rue join her. "This is your fault," they all hiss.

I start backing up as they come closer. I stumble back into the grass and watch in horror as a white-haired man steps from the fire. Snow. He's dressed in his fancy suit and he smiles menacingly with a bouquet of roses in his hand. "Girl on fire.. Haven't you had enough?" He smirks before turning into a slithering snake. The last thing I see before waking up is Peeta standing outside the circle of fire, yelling at me to run.

I wake up in a cold sweat, alone in my bed. The dark sky outside my window told me that it was late at night. I'm tangled in my sheets and my pillows are on the floor. I reach down to collect them before trying to get comfortable once again. It's no use. I won't be sleeping after that nightmare.

I push myself out of bed and walk to my window. I need to feel the air. I need to breathe. I unlatch the window and push it open. Right across from me, is Peeta's open window. His bed is out of view. Maybe he's having a nightmare too. Maybe he'll thrash in his sheets before waking up alone to an empty room. Maybe he'd walk to his window too, and try to figure out how I was coping.

I walk back and lie on my bed face down. Tears soak my pillow. I just want this to end. All the pain, the nightmares, and the guilt. How had we ended up here?

I hear my front door creak open. Heavy footsteps try to maneuver the stairs quietly, and I shoot up in surprise. I know those footsteps. My bedroom door opens and Peeta stands there. He has bags under his eyes and his face is pale. His eyes still have that familiar look of alarm I get after a nightmare.

"Ah, I'm sorry." Peeta looks down at my stare, running his hand through his hair. "I just couldn't.." He pauses at my silence and begins to turn to leave again. "I'll just-"

"Stay," I blurt out. He stops. I clear my throat. "I can't sleep either. Nightmares."

Peeta hesitates and takes a step forward. Then he shuts the door behind him and stands above me. "Are you sure?"

I tug on his hand and he obliges. He lays down beside me and I find myself inching closer towards him. We're both facing left so I could hear his heart beating steadier. His chest lulls up and down in tune with his breath. As I listen to a muffled snore escape his throat, I sink down closer to him and murmur, "Positive."


	4. Chapter 4

_"How long?" I say, how long will you relive the things that are gone? Oh yeah, the devil__'__s on your back but I know you can shake him off._

I open my eyes slowly and take in the sunlight that's engulfing my room. I hear birds singing outside the open window. I let out a sigh of relief and gratefully accept the nine hours of peaceful sleep I've gotten.

Peeta and I have slept in the same bed together for about one and half months now. Feeling his presence beside me is comforting. And even if I get nightmares, even the really bad ones where I've never felt more broken, he pulls me closer and whispers the same words over and over again.

"It's not real. You're here now, with me. We're safe."

All it takes is Peeta's strong arms and these gentle phrases, and I'm calm.

Waking up together in the morning is always kind of awkward though. We're usually entangled together in one way or another; whether he wraps my entire body in his arms and doesn't let go, or when my arm is around his chest, pulling him closer.

As I pull the blanket closer, I feel Peeta's lips on my hair. He's still asleep. His chest still rises and falls in a steady rhythm. He usually wakes up before me to start on breakfast or something. I'm overcome with a desire to look at him. I hardly look at him openly when we're both awake because my long stare causes sprouts questions in him. Questions I'm too uncomfortable to answer.

I hold my breath and slowly push away from the mattress until I'm facing him. He's still fast asleep, thank goodness. The golden hair that I want to push back so badly falls across his forward. His blue eyes that resemble Prim's so closely are resting and thick blonde lashes guard them. I start to feel an ache in my chest. His lips are slightly chapped and I feel memories feeding the fire in my belly just by looking at them. My heart thumps slowly and loudly, an unwelcome feeling.

_Stop it_, I scold myself. _He doesn't want you anymore._

Maybe it's the feel of my eyes exploring his face, or the sound of my erratic heartbeat, but Peeta starts to stir. I immediately close my eyes and try to steady my breathing.

I guess he opens his eyes and thinks I'm still sleeping, because he holds his breath and tries to ease himself off the mattress quietly, which isn't easy with his prosthetic leg. He tiptoes to the bathroom and closes it gently.

I open my eyes when I hear the sink running. Sometimes I do that. Pretend to be asleep to avoid awkward morning encounters. The space next to me is vacant and I roll into his spot and lay my head on his pillow. I breathe in his sent and snuggle down in the warmth.

The bathroom door opens and I forget to shut my eyes again. Peeta walks out and sees me enjoying the toasty spot where his body used to be. He looks away out the window as if examining the day's weather, but the corners of his mouth are turned up and twitching.

"Good morning," I blush. I immediately get out of my warm bed and walk past him into the bathroom. He takes the hint and walks down to the kitchen.

I shut the door and wash my face, brush my teeth, and brush my hair. Then I braid if deftly and slip on black pants and a green shirt.

As I walk down the stairs, I already smell cooking eggs and fresh cheese buns. We eat quietly. Peeta says he wants to go into town for baking ingredients. He also mentions something about visiting Greasy Sae's granddaughter. I nod, only half listening.

Even though I'm still a little underweight, I'm gaining some of my strength back. My body will probably never be at its peak condition again, toned from days surviving on what I managed to catch, and the physical exertion it took. I miss the woods. My woods.

I dab at my mouth with a napkin before clearing my throat. "I think I'm going to hunt today," I say tentatively. I stare down at the bread crumbs on my plate.

"Okay."

Peeta and I clear the table and wash the dishes. He leaves and says he'll be back in an hour or two. After I hear the door shut, I walk upstairs to my study. A couple weeks ago Greasy Sae said I could find a bow and arrow there.

As I twist open the doorknob, I think of my meeting with Snow here. I can just imagine him sitting in the high-backed leather chair, smirking at me and reeking of roses.

I walk into the room. It's mostly empty except for the bow and sheath of arrows lying on the desk, and a brown cardboard box that says "Katniss's Stuff" in my mother's careful script.

I know I shouldn't, but I can't seem to stop myself as I kneel down to lift open the cardboard flaps. Inside is my parents' wedding photo, my father's hunting jacket, the plant book, the spile Haymitch sent in during the Quarter Quell, and the locket Peeta gave me. My throat tightens and I feel tears flood my eyes. I trace the outline of my parents in the photo. I put on the hunting jacket and try to breathe in any familiar scents. I flip through the plant book. I play with the spile in my hands. And I find myself opening Peeta's locket and remembering how he looked at me that night. The dam breaks. All of sudden I'm lying on the floor, sobbing. Nothing would ever be the same.

I hear a meow and turn towards the door. There sits the world's ugliest cat with its mashed in nose and squash-colored fur. How could he have gotten here? **I take in the claw marks from some wild animal, the back paw he holds slightly above the ground, the prominent bones in his face. He's come on foot, then, all the way from 13. Maybe they kicked him out or maybe he just couldn't stand it there without her, so he came looking. "It was the waste of a trip. She's not here," I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. "She's not here. You can hiss all you like. You won't find Prim." At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. "Get out!" "Go away! There's nothing left for you here!" I start to shake, furious with him. "She's not coming back! She's never ever coming back here again! She's dead." I clutch my middle to dull the pain. "She's dead, you stupid cat. She's dead." A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won't go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious. But he must understand. He must know that the unthinkable has happened and to survive will require previously unthinkable acts. **

I barely hear the front door open, but Peeta's thunderous footsteps meet the stairs two at a time. He strides into the study and sees me and Buttercup weeping.

No words are needed. He picks up all of the stuff I had been looking through and puts it back into the box before closing it once again. He carries me to my bedroom while I sob into his shoulder. I'm aware of Buttercup trailing behind. Peeta takes off the hunting jacket and hangs it up in my closet. He takes a brush from my bathroom and untangles my hair, one strand at a time. It feels so good. After my hair is smooth, he tucks me into bed and pulls the covers up to my chin, even though it's only midday. He even remembers to leave a box of tissues on my bedside table.

Finally I'm settled down and my eyelids are growing heavy with exhaustion from my crying fit. Peeta nods and starts to leave. I push back the blanket and grab his hand immediately. He looks back and I don't know whether it's the look of desperation on my face or the fact that I'm gripping his hand so tightly I might've pulled him to the ground. He nods and climbs into bed with me.

"It's not real. You're here now, with me. We're safe."

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I wake up before Peeta again. It's still dark outside, but the sky is slowly lightening. I'm pretty sure I slept for a good twelve hours, became my limbs are sore and there's a crick on my neck from where it was curled into Peeta's chest. He's still sleeping soundly, and every now and then I hear a muffled snore escape his throat.

All of a sudden, for the first time in months, I actually feel hungry. I push myself out of my bed with a new purpose and go to the bathroom. I catch sight of myself in the mirror. A pale girl with dark, tangled hair and dull, lackluster eyes. I'm too skinny and gaunt. I turn on the water and wash my face. The water feels so good that I begin to rub it on my neck, and then my arms. Soon, I'm shedding my clothes and turning on the shower.

I let the hot water cleanse my skin. It rushes over me and envelopes me in a warmth that I've only felt with Peeta's arms around me. I use half a bar of soap with trying to wash away all the bad memories and marks that have been inflicted on me. After I'm done, I'm pink and tingling. I dress in clean clothes and braid my hair down my back.

My stomach grumbles again. I walk out of the bathroom and I see that Peeta's still sleeping. I feel the corners of my mouth twitching up when I see him on my side of the bed, sinking his face into _my_ pillow, with the blanket up to his chin. There's a peaceful expression on his face.

I whisk downstairs, counting on my hunter's tread to keep me quiet. I find leftover bread in the fridge and heat it up before spreading jam on it. I scarf down my breakfast and see Buttercup padding from the living room,

**He sits stoically as I clean the cuts but digging the thorn from his paw brings on a round of those kitten mews. **

"Katniss?" Peeta walks into the kitchen and sees my pouring a bowl of milk for the cat that I never thought I'd love. "Everything okay?"

I smile. "Yes. There's actually something I want to talk to you about."

He nods before going to the coffee machine to make himself a cup. Then we sit together at the table.

"Last night, when I was going through my old things, I found our plant book." I hesitate. "Do you remember?"

Peeta's eyes wander the room first and his eyebrows are knit. "I think so. We made a book. You wrote the names of plants and I drew them." After I nod, pleased, he smiles. "I remember you watching me when I painted."

This time, my eyes survey the room as I concentrate on anything but his lips. "Yes. I was thinking that we could make a new one. But instead of plants to remember, it'd have people to remember."

And I explain how we'd weave a book with our memories, capturing everything that would be a crime to forget.

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I had to split this up into two sections because it seemed so long! The text in bold is from _Mockingjay_, by Suzanne Collins. Please review!_  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_You know it's funny how freedom can make us feel contained. When the muscles in our legs aren't used to all the walking._

"Put that down," Greasy Sae tells her little granddaughter firmly. Her face is wrinkly but her eyes are kind. She's standing in my kitchen, hovering over a pot of soup. "It's not yours."

The little girl was playing with a ball of blue yarn that she had found in my mother's knitting basket. I don't remember her name, but she was a pretty child. She had dirty-blonde hair and bright eyes.

I look over and see the smile leave her face. She starts to toddle back to the knitting basket but I stop her.

"No, she can keep it," I tell Greasy Sae. The little girl hears and happily starts rolling the ball back and forth once again. No one here knows how to knit anymore.

Peeta comes in through the front door, pulling his gardening gloves off. When I see him see me and smile, my heart dances to this weird rhythm. He's carrying a bundle of evening primrose that he probably picked from the bushes he planted. He walks into the kitchen and brightens when he sees Greasy Sae. "It's so nice to see you," he beams as he envelopes her in a hug. "Are you over for dinner?"

Greasy Sae nods and stirs a wooden spoon in the pot before adding some sort of spice. "Thought you two would miss my soup." Her eyes find mine and she winks.

He smiles and reaches up into a cupboard for a vase. As he turns on the sink to fill it up, he sees Greasy Sae's granddaughter. If he was happy to see Greasy Sae, he must be overjoyed to see her granddaughter.

"I didn't know you were coming too!" he grins as he crosses over to give the girl a hug. "What have you got there?"

I watch as Peeta plays with the little girl. When he looks at her, his face lights up. He's glowing. All throughout dinner, he looks at her, then looks at the way Greasy Sae glances affectionately at her. For desert, he even finishes icing two cupcakes that he had stashed in the fridge that weren't quite done, and gives them to her. She smiles as she licks the buttercream frosting and hugs Peeta.

I realize how much Peeta wants kids. He's probably wanted one of his own since he was one. He's never brought up the idea with me of course, but I know he wants one. I feel a pang in my chest. It's another thing I can't give him. If he wants to have a kid of his own, he can't do it with me. I'm terrified to have children. I can never shake the feeling of fear in my chest, knowing one day they'll get reaped like I did. I can just imagine a little boy resembling Peeta, being drawn into the games. I can see me and Peeta watching him fight to the death on the television screen, forced to grow up so fast like us. And I can see myself crying for months if he dies, like Prim did.

_But Katniss_, I can practically hear Peeta chiding me. _The games are gone. No children would ever be reaped._

I clear my head. Peeta and I would never have children. We're not even stable to live together for a month without any fears of flashbacks or nightmares. How would we be able to raise a child?

Also, Peeta would never love me like that again. If he did have a child, it wouldn't be mine. It'd be his child, not ours.

Nevertheless, children are out of the question. I've lost too many people in my life, including Peeta for a short amount of time. I won't offer any more.

When we bid Greasy Sae and her sweet granddaughter goodbye, Peeta and I sit on the couch together. He's brought out his paints and brushes, and I have my fine ballpoint pen and the book.

We've been working on the book for two months now. It was very difficult at first, surpressing all the bad memories. Peeta got flashbacks every night for two weeks. For two weeks, he had fought the venom in his mind that tried to portray me as a murderous mutt. I watched him as he clutched the back of a dining room chair, holding back insults and horrible thoughts directed at me. Every night, my dam was slowly chipping away again. What if one day, the blue in his eyes wouldn't win? I tried to help him in anyway I could. I'd whisper the same words he would say to me after a nightmare.

"It's not real. You're here now with me. We're safe."

Just like me after a nightmare, Peeta would calm down and steady his breathing. We would play a few rounds of Real or Not Real, and he'd be back. I'd hold him when he'd sob and murmur apologies, and I'd tuck him into bed before joining him. On the last night of his flashbacks, when I was convinced that we'd have these flashbacks to deal with forever, I reached over to his side of the bed and kissed his forehead. He opened his eyes and stirred. I darted back to my side of the bed.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid girl_, I chanted in my head.

And after that night, the flashbacks stopped happening continuously. I mean, once in a while they'll happen but I'm glad we didn't have to go through those two straight of weeks of tampered memories again.

I'm in the middle of writing a description of Rue's ability to flit from tree to tree when Peeta says, "Greasy Sae's granddaughter is so sweet. Isn't she?"

I hear his paintbrushes clinking around in a glass of water. He dips one in rich green paint and starts to swirl in it absentmindedly.

I nod. "Yeah, she is."

I finish writing Rue's segment. Peeta starts to work on her drawing. He's slowly bringing Rue to life again. I see her bright, kind eyes staring at me through the picture. She's laughing as she sits in a tall tree. I miss her.

I pretend to be examining his artwork, but I'm really stealing glances at him. We're sitting right beside each other against the couch. We're not touching but I can feel a steady flow of electricity humming between our bodies. I want to reach and stroke his hair back because it keep flopping down his face while he's bent over. My hand twitches towards him without my permission. I clench my jaw and place my hands in my lap.

Peeta looks up at me and I blush. "So you like children, then?"

He resumes work on his artwork but smiles. "Yeah. Do you?"

I think. I loved Prim since she was little, but taking care of her as she grew up was no easy task. I don't think I could handle raising one from the beginning. But did I like children? Did I like being around their curious, innocent faces? I couldn't imagine myself surrounded by children, reading them storybooks and teaching them songs. But I'd risk my life to save one, so I guess I like them.

"Yeah."

Peeta half smiles, still concentrating on illustrating Rue's thick hair. I can imagine him with children. I can see him holding a baby in his arms, teaching a little boy how to bake cupcakes, or tucking a little girl into bed. "Do you want them?" I blurt out.

He pauses and looks up at me again. "Yes, I guess you could say so." He smiles and swishes his paintbrush, covered with brown paint, in his glass of water. He's still looking at me and I feel my face flushing. "Don't you?"

"No." The word tumbles from my lips.

Peeta puts down his paintbrush, intrigued. "Why?"

I flush some more and look around the room, avoiding his eyes. I end up mumbling. "I don't think I'd be a very good mom."

He chuckles as he dives right back into his work. "I don't think that'd be true."

I'm watching him as he starts to grow the forest that was one of the backgrounds in my nightmares, the familiar forest that was our arena. "And I'm scared," I whisper.

Peeta wrinkles his forehead as he mixes two different shades of green together for the trees. "Why?"

First, I'd be haunted with the dark thought that my child would be thrown into an arena like I did and forced to kill other children. I'd never put any child of mine through what I had experienced. Prim is another reason holding me back. Even if she was my baby sister, I always felt like she could've been my daughter. If I had to see another pair of childlike eyes and uncontained excitement, I'd always think of her quiet giggle and kind heart. She could never be replaced.

I press my mouth into a line and shrug my shoulders. I fiddle with my thumbs a bit. "I'm scared they'd get reaped."

Peeta's eyebrows knit in confusion. "But the games don't exist anymore."

I shake my head, frustrated. Why can't he understand? "I don't know how to explain it, Peeta. It's just something I'm never going to plan to do."

"Alright." He tries not to show it, but his face falls. His shining blue eyes dulled and the corners of his mouth turned down. He picks up his paintbrush and continues to work.

I swallow hard and stand up to get myself a glass of water. I walk into the kitchen and as I retrieve a glass, I try to picture a little toddler scurrying around. We'd get him a smaller chair, and he'd probably take one of the extra rooms. Maybe Peeta would teach him how to paint, and I could take him to the woods to swim like I did with my father. And I can see older, calmer version of Peeta and me gazing fondly at the child. I close my eyes and shut off my imagination.

_Stop. He doesn't want you anymore, _the ugly voice in the back of my mind hisses.

I walk back into the living room, my face flushing. After we both hear ourselves yawning time after time, we agree to call it a night. We crawl into my bed, though we're both still awake. I can still hear his breathing, and it hasn't grown steady and long yet. We're not facing each other, unlike other nights. I guess we're lost in our own thoughts.

_I'm sorry I can't give you children. I'm sorry I don't know how I feel about you. I'm sorry you were hijacked. I'm sorry I kissed Gale. I'm sorry I'm not easy to love. I'm sorry you loved me. And I'm sorry we're so broken._

I feel the bed shift as Peeta leans over to my side. He hovers over me and says, "Goodnight, Katniss," before kissing my forehead. Just like when I did the same thing a couple weeks ago, he scampers back to his territory and curls up into his pillow.

I'm still blushing when I close my eyes and see visions of mini Peetas running through dandelion fields.

_TBC._

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I know it's kind of sad, but don't worry. Happier chapters coming soon. Please hit that blue button down there!


	6. Chapter 6

_I know if you could snap both your fingers that you'd escape with me. But in the meantime, I'll just wait here and listen to you when you speak, or scream.__  
_  
I grimace as I survey Haymitch's downstairs bedroom. The bed is unmade and there are dirty clothes everywhere. There is a couple of empty liquor bottles littered around the room and the whole place reeks of alcohol. I walk to the windows and try to push aside the curtains to let some light in.

Haymitch leaves the bathroom and comes stumbling inside with Peeta. He's wearing fresh clothes and his hair is damp. "Close those curtains," he grumbles and shields his eyes. Well, at least he's clean now.

Peeta and I were delivering bread to Haymitch and we saw him passed out on the couch in his worst state of drunkenness we'd seen. He was surrounded by empty bottles, his hair was matted and falling, and his cheeks were tearstained. I woke up traditionally by pouring a bucket of cold water and he unceremoniously stabbed the air a couple times with his knife. Then Peeta lugged him into the shower and I did my best to try to tidy the place.

Haymitch has been helping us the past month by adding his own memories to the book. While he'd ramble on about all his past tributes and take the occasional swig from a bottle, I'd neatly write the segments and Peeta would try to draw an illustration from Haymitch's descriptions.

We all settled downstairs, at Haymitch's kitchen table. I have to clear off the empty bottles and dirty laundry. Peeta brought over a hearty loaf of bread with raisins and nuts. He pushes it towards Haymitch while I dig in the fridge. I wrinkle my nose at his expired milk and settle for pouring him a glass of water.

Haymitch starts tearing up again. Peeta and I exchange glances. Haymitch hardly cries when he's hungover.

"Haymitch?" Peeta hesitates. He pats him on the back. "Alright?"

Haymitch ignores the bread but accepts the water. He takes a tiny sip, then closes his eyes and put his hands on his temples. "No, but it hasn't been for a while boy."

Peeta and I both nudge the plate of bread towards Haymitch again. Our fingers brush against each other and I feel something jolt. My fingertips feel like they've been burned and the monster in my belly roars.

I withdraw my hand and shove it under the table into my lap. I don't dare to glance at Peeta's expression. "Do you want to talk about it?" but Haymitch gives me a short, quick shake of his head. "It's better for me not to, sweetheart."

"But drinking is?" Peeta says, his eyebrows knit in frustration. "Haymitch, it's not a good way to cope."

"Well it's only the way I can, boy," snarls Haymitch.

Peeta and I leave Haymitch's an hour later. We manage to get a few slices of bread into him and he promises he'll drink his water. We leave him some on his bedside table before we tuck him into bed.

"At least you two have each other." Haymitch murmurs. He looks heartbroken as he glances from me to Peeta. He closes his eyes and starts snoring.

We're at home, in my study. Peeta's practically moved in. All of his paintings and his supplies have taken over my study. He covers up the ones I'm not ready to see yet. I don't have to see them to get nightmares. They've already commanded most of my dreams.

I'm sitting in the rocking chair at the back of the room, watching Peeta paint. I love watching him paint, though I'd never admit it. His easel's back is to me. He bites his lip, then dabs his paintbrush in different colors on his palette.

I'm smiling when I see him poke his tongue out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He looks up abruptly and I flush before focusing on the wood paneling on the floors.

I'm not ready to talk about any deeper feelings I have for Peeta. Everything's been better, and there's no need for complications while we're still so fragile. But still, I hate that ache you feel when you miss someone who doesn't miss you. I hate it when my head starts spinning, and my thoughts jumble. I hate reflecting on the moments when I truly felt happy and content with myself. I wonder, what went wrong? How did this happen?

Haymitch was right. He gets nightmares too, but he uses drinking to get by. If I didn't have Peeta, I'd probably end up like Haymitch. I realize how fortunate I am to have Peeta. He's always going to be the one who makes things easier on me, even if he's dealing with problems himself. At the end of the day, he's the one I can count on. And I'm not going to take him for granted anymore.

Haymitch has alcohol. Peeta and I are lucky enough to have each other.

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I know I haven't updated for a week now. Sorry, I haven't had much inspiration. I promise to have a really good chapter tomorrow night. :) Please hit that blue button down there!


	7. Chapter 7

_The truth cuts us, pulls us back up and separates the things that look the same. You can fight it off, you can._

It's been about a month and half since Peeta and I cleaned up Haymitch and watched him cry himself to sleep. I've been hunting and Peeta is starting to remember more of the recipes his father taught him.

There are still some nights where I look at him and feel the ember in my stomach flare up and demand to be noticed. And there are still some nights where he looks at me and the black in his eyes demand to be noticed. But we're slowly coming back together, one day at a time.

I slowly blink open my eyes and I see Peeta lying down beside me. His eyes widen at the sight of me waking up. His eyelashes flutter down as he shuts his eyes, cutting off the cerulean-colored view. He tries to steady his breathing as if he's asleep.

I try not to smirk as I stretch my arms upwards. Usually it's me who stares at him until he stirs, and then has to fake slumber when he wakes.

The bed creaks as I shift my weight. I'm sitting cross-legged, facing him. I clear my throat and prod his shoulder.

He opens his eyes quickly and sees me. He pretends to yawn and stretch. "Good morning," he tries to say, but I'm already chuckling.

Seeing him blush makes the ember in my stomach flare. My heart thumps uncomfortably. I hop off the bed and walk into the bathroom, closing it after me. I wash my face, re-braid my hair, and change out of my shirt and pajama bottoms.

Peeta's already downstairs. When I came down, he was scarfing down a muffin. I poured him a cup of coffee and settled at the table with my own slice of bread. He avoids my eyes and I can tell he's embarrassed about this morning. I smirk into my bite of bread before glancing out the window.

The trees in the backyard are already starting to shed their leaves and I see a crisp breeze ruffle the grass. Even if it is mid-fall, the sun is still peeking out behind shifting clouds. It's the old Katniss's favorite kind of day.

"Going to hunt?" Peeta asks. He takes a sip of his coffee.

I realize that I've finished my breakfast and that I've just been staring out the window. I nod. "Oh. Yeah." I push back my chair and put my plate into the sink. I turn the water on and start to wash it. "What are you going to do today?" I soap the platter and rinse it before laying it into the dishwasher to dry.

"I don't know yet. I'm probably going to try out some new recipes, maybe paint," Peeta shrugs.

I nod and wipe my hands on my pants. "I'll be back later."

"Okay."

My hunting trip is successful. I enjoy my day outside and catch a rabbit and two squirrels. I decide to drop off the squirrels at Greasy Sae's. Peeta and I still haven't found a way to repay her for looking after us for those months. She still is. We all have dinner together at least once a month.

I say hi to her granddaughter and hand Greasy Sae the squirrels. "Thank you," she smiles. She looks tired, but well fed and healthy. More wrinkles are starting to etch themselves into her face though. "How are you and the boy?"

I flush. "We're fine."

Greasy Sae gives me a curious look, then just accepts it and nods. "Alright. You get home now; it's starting to get dark."

I stride into the house and leave my leather boots at the door. I put my bow and sheath in the hallway closet. Then I walk into the kitchen and sling my game bag on a chair. The vase of primroses Peeta refreshes every week is lying shattered on the ground. The water had formed a puddle on my kitchen floor and the flowers looked like they had been trodden on.

"Peeta?" I call anxiously. This doesn't look good. I hurry into the living room. He's not there, but the bottles of paint he had left on the coffee table last night are on the floor and his paintbrushes have been snapped in half. He had moved the painting of Lady from his house into my living room after I had complimented him on it. It was lying facedown on the floor by the fireplace. I take the stairs two at a time.

I swallow hard and enter my study. I remember a couple of months ago; when I found him in his house having a flashback. I had been so angry that he hadn't confided in me. He hadn't had a flashback that bad since then.

I push open the door and I'm instantly thrown down by a sturdy blonde boy with pitch black eyes. He's pinning me to the floor and I've never seen such a venomous look in his eyes. "You're going to get what's coming to you," he snarls.

I feel his hands curl around my throat and I struggle to kick his body off of me. "Peeta, please stop," I choke. I wrap my leg around his and manage to push some of his weight.

He doesn't stop. He sits up and pushes me down again. This time he has a secure grip on me. "You're the reason why so many people are dead. You burned down my home!" He clenches his jaw and shuts his eyes. His firm grasp around my neck lessens and he's breathing quickly. He open his eyes and they're flashing from blue to black. "Go Katniss, go!" he yells.

I try to sprint away when he curls up on the floor, his hands in tight fists. I'm trying to take on the stairs but I hear the floorboards groan as he jumps up and rolls down the steps with me. My body crashes down until I'm on the floor. I hurt all over and there's a nasty bruise forming on my arm.

Peeta tackles me into the living room. I'm lying under him again as he's shouting spiteful accusations into my face. "I didn't-", I try to say. "Not real." He gets even angrier and then tries to hit me. I dodge out of the way and manage to roll over and push him away. I dash towards the door but all of a sudden Peeta's in front of me. He shoves me onto the ground again and my body screams in pain.

"You killed everyone I love," he says coldly. "There's no one left for me." He takes steps towards me as I crawl backwards. My eyes water when I see the black in his eyes has taken over. The monster's won.

The dam breaks. Everything we managed to do doesn't mean anything. It didn't matter if we looked fine, and acted fine. We're broken and we'll never be the same. We're scarred.

It's horrible when everything is doing fine and then it all crashes down again. And the worst part is, I really don't want to try and put it all back together again, but I have to.

"Peeta, there's still someone you love." I utter. I feel moisture on my cheeks and wipe away stray tears.

He doesn't respond, but the blue in his eyes make an appearance. Then the darkness commands his being once again.

I push myself off the floor and walk in front of him. "Me." And then I do something that I haven't done since that mission in the Capitol. I do something that the monster in my belly has been demanding since he moved in.

I grab him and kiss him.

My monster roars as I surrender. He stiffens at first, but I don't let him push me away. I hug his neck and my heart feels like it's about to burst out of my chest. Finally, he gives in and kisses me back wholeheartedly. We mold together and the flame ignites. It feels like there's an inferno inside of me. Warmth spreads throughout my entire being and the monster demands more. I deepen the kiss but my hunger for him still isn't satisfied. I feel him squeeze me tighter against him.

And then he's the one that pulls apart. My lips are still partly open as I breath heavily. The blue in his eyes triumphed. There's color in his cheeks again and his lips are slightly chapped. His eyes are full of love; that familiar look that I saw everyday and took for granted. "Katniss, I-"

I'm not ready. I'm not ready to hear those words. And I'm not ready to give him a reassurance, which is what he wants. I can't even give him most of what he wants. I wasn't even ready to kiss him like that. Where did that come from?

And before he can say those three words that make me feel like a guilty, heartless person every time, I dash up the stairs and shut my bedroom door behind me.

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Here's the chapter I promised guys. :) Things are getting better between them! I'm going to work super hard so tomorrow I'll hopefully have the second to last chapter up. Please hit the blue button down there!


	8. Chapter 8

I'm so sorry guys. There really is no excuse for not writing for a couple of weeks. I was just creatively shot, and not to mention busy. I hope this chapter makes up for it. I'm already working on the last one, I PROMISE.

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_Everyday that you want to waste, you can._

I'm wrapped up in my sheets. All my pillows are on the floor, but my duvet and sheets cocoon my body and try to warm me up. My teeth chatter together and I push my feet farther into the blankets. It's not use.

If Peeta was here, we'd be wrapped up together. Maybe I wouldn't even need my cushion of blankets. His arms would be around me and I'd feel snug and safe. Maybe he'd snore a little bit. And tighten his arms around me if I'd shiver. He would've been here. But he's not.

I remember waking up at two in the morning and seeing the shut window. It hadn't started raining yet. The night was still clear and pitch black. Then I remembered the events of last night. Peeta wasn't with me. I had pushed myself out of bed to yank up my window to let some cool air in.

Then it started raining hard. It was like nature wanted me to feel the pain of my actions in every way possible. I let my blankets envelop me. They offered me warmth. The sheets of rain were biting and icy, but I still left the window open. I deserved it.

My bed feels cold. _Stupid, stupid, girl,_ I chant to myself. I left him all alone last night, and right after a flashback too. Right after I kissed him. The first time in so many months.

I sat up and retrieved my pillows off the floor. Then I just sat on the end of my bed and twiddled my thumbs. Would he still be there? Or would he have gone back to his house, where he could sleep in a comfortable bed?

I force myself to stand up and go through my morning ritual. I go to the bathroom and brush my teeth, wash my face, and braid back my hair. I stare at myself in the mirror. My lips feel tingly. I change into clean clothes and slowly open my door. I try not to let the floorboards creak too much as I descend the stairs. When I reach the bottom, I turn my head to look into the living room.

And there he is. He's sleeping on the couch with his feet hanging off the end. He's still dressed in the clothes he wore last night, and he had dragged two blankets on top of him. He's curled up into a ball in his side.

Before I stop myself, I tiptoe towards him and stroke back his hair. His eyelids are still and his breathing is even. He almost looks content, but he's shivering a little bit. I want to give him another blanket, but I'm afraid to wake him up. I quickly remove my hand and place it firmly at my side. What am I doing?

Peeta utters a little snore at the back of his throat before his eyes open hazily. My breathing hikes and I try to scurry to the kitchen, but the sound of his sleepy voice stops me.

"Katniss?"

I turn around. His blonde eyelashes are fluttering as he takes in his surroundings. He pushes himself into a steated position and wraps a blanket tighter around him.

He's waiting. Waiting for an explanation, but I can't give him one. I can never give him what he wants. I can never give him the love he wants, or the three words he wants to hear the most. I can never give him children or emotional stability. I'm always going to be too unpredictable, too unsure, and too broken for him.

I feel a warm blush spreading across my cheeks. I look down at my feet while I try to find an excuse. I feel his eyes on my face and I look up.

He's blushing too, especially when I look up to see his blue eyes focused on my lips. I take a step back and his eyes meet mine.

"Are you hungry?"

Peeta and I cook breakfast like we normally do. But I feel a certain coolness around us, like we're not both comfortable with each other as we were.

Today there's no accidental or intentional physical contact. Or conversation, for that matter. We watch our movements carefully so that his hand doesn't brush against mine as we both try to reach for the coffee pot. We stand at least three feet apart as we both butter our toast at the counter.

We don't sit at the table to eat. We just lean on the counter and eat our bread in silence. I watch him out of the corner of my eye as he sips his coffee. I tear my bread to pieces before I clear my throat.

"How are you feeling?" I cast my eyes downward.

He nods and bites into his bread. "Alright."

And we're back to where we were.

* * *

I trod up my porch stairs. My boots squeak and my clothes and hair are dripping wet. I'm freezing, and my game bag is empty. I was going to get away from the house into the once safe haven of another life of mine, the woods. But I ran into Greasy Sae on the way there and she made me turn back.

"You'll never find any game in this weather," she had said firmly as she adjusted her rain slicker. She pursed her lips into a thin line and nodded her head in the direction I came. "Last thing you need is to be getting sick."

I ditch my sodden leather boots and bow and sheath at the welcome mat at my door. I twist open the doorknob to let myself in. I need to get out of these wet clothes, but my stomach is grumbling in protest. I walk to the kitchen, not caring if I drip everywhere. I open a cupboard and I see all of my glass cups lined up neatly, like shiny soldiers ready for a battle. That's strange. I thought that usually Peeta's baking tins were there, taking up all the space. My eyebrows knit together and I open the cupboard next to it. It's empty. I remember opening that cupboard yesterday and seeing a bunch of his baking ingredients there. Peeta must have moved his stuff or something. I pour myself a glass of milk and start to head upstairs.

Before I mount the first step, I notice something in the living room. Usually Peeta's bottles of paint would be scattered on the coffee table, where we'd work on the book each night. But instead, only the book and my ink pen sit there.

_He wouldn't…_

"Peeta!" I call. I rush up the stairs, which isn't an easy task in soaking wet clothes. I reach my bedroom and see him silently folding his clothes and setting them in a suitcase.

"Peeta, what are you doing?" I ask, my mouth agape. He couldn't have been asked to go to the Capitol again for treatment. I don't know if he called Dr. Aurelius about it.

He's just sitting there on the floor with his legs crossed. One suitcase is already full and is standing up by the door. He's holding one of his blue sleep shirts in his hands and his eyes are dull. He takes a deep breath and looks around the room before his eyes find mine. "I just think… that'd it'd be better if we had some separation for a while."

"What? Why?" My mouth turns dry and I feel a hollow ache in my chest. I think of sleeping alone without Peeta's protection against nightmare. I think of eating unaccompanied every night, or having to have Greasy Sae to babysit me again. And I think of sitting all by myself by the fireplace and having to piece it all back together again, like I tried to do before Peeta moved in. "Is it because of last night's flashback? Because that would never happen again. I'd help you, we could get through this…" My voice falters as I seem him shaking his head. There's something inside of me that flares up, a voice in the back of my head that's pleading for him to stay. I begin to grab random clothes out of his open suitcase and throw them on the bed. I snatch the nightshirt in his hand. "Peeta, we're not going back, okay? This helps. Being with each other helps.."

He blinks a couple of times. His eyes look dead, like all the life has been sucked out of them. They're not coal black like they would be if he was having a flashback. Instead of the bright blue, they're a somber navy. It's something worse. I've lost him. For good this time.

"It's not that, Katniss. I just think we need some time apart to think."

I shift my weight from one foot to another. I squeeze the nightshirt in my hand by my side. "About what?"

Peeta flushes. "You know." He looks down at his now messy suitcase. "How we feel. About each other."

I clench my jaw and I feel my cheeks warming. I keep my eyes focused on the wood paneling on the floors. "I don't know what you're talking about." I falter. I toss the shirt onto the bed.

I guess Peeta decides enough is enough because he lets out a sigh and pushes himself up. "You know exactly what I mean, Katniss," he says exasperatedly.

My arms cross around my chest defensively. "Peeta, what happened last night, with us.. It was to help you. To bring you back."

He blinks once, twice. His lip quivers. "You kissed me to bring me back. And you didn't feel anything. You didn't do it because you wanted to. Just because you wanted me to get back to normal." He tries to meet my eyes. "Real or not real?"

I don't respond. I swallow and glance at the clothes strewn bed. "Peeta…" I trail off.

"After we kissed, you ran away. Real or not real?" Peeta demands. "I wake up in the morning sometimes to see you staring at me. Real or not real?" He doesn't wait for answers. "When I paint, you like to watch me. Real or not real?" "Before I got hijacked, you loved me. Real or not real?" Something catches in his throat. His dam is breaking. "And every time you feel something, you run away. Real or not real?"

I feel myself crying. Drops of moisture hit my cheeks one by one and I shove them off my face with my hand.

"I don't understand how you can talk with someone, live with someone, and kiss someone that you have so much history with, and not feel a thing." Peeta shakes his head. "I'm tired of you treating me like this." He lets out. "You only love me when I'm gone. You only miss me when I'm not there for you." His dam breaks. "I get it. You're hurt and I'm hurt. People like us can't just wake up one day and feel okay, or happy all of sudden. We need time. And I'm trying to help you Katniss."

I steal a glance at him. I've never seen him cry like this. His eyes match the weather. Tears drip down his once rosy cheeks. His eyes are bleary and he looks like a broken little boy. But it's different than all the other times when he's cried in front of me, because I'm the reason why. He's broken because of me.

"I see how you look at me in the mornings, or when I'm baking or painting. And I see how we help each other through the nights. We're each others' crutches. But I'm not your punching bag. You can't treat me like I'm nothing and expect it to be okay later on."

"And then you kissed me. And everything felt right and I almost felt whole again. And I thought, 'She's finally going to let me in again. She'll tell me how she feels.' But you ran away Katniss. You always do."

"I don't know what you want me to do. It's so hard trying. And everyday, I'm here, and I'm overwhelmed with how much I love you."

_He just said he loves you._ I remember another time, when those words meant barely anything to me. Those words felt one sided I could never give him what he wanted in return.

But now, in this moment, I can. I feel a warmth spreading throughout my entire body. My broken being is slowly joining with his. We'll never be the same. But if things hadn't turned out the way they did, I wouldn't have him.

Maybe it's because I don't want to see him go. Or maybe it's because I can't stand to see him so upset. Or maybe it's because he's the one I really need. I surrender myself to his strong arms, kind heart, and perfect cerulean eyes that were always there.

And I kiss him.

* * *

Please hit that blue button down there!


	9. Chapter 9

_Everyday that you want to change, I'll help you see it through, cuz I just really want to be with you._

The monster in my belly roars with satisfaction as my lips crash onto his. Peeta's surprised at first, but then he kisses me back eagerly.

This kiss wasn't like the one from the cave or on the beach. Those kisses were publicized and blown up. Those kisses were warm and blissful, but felt guarded and trapped under the Capitol. This kiss feels free, unrestrained.

His arms wrap around my waist and I cling to his neck. My heart beats so fast I think it might burst out of my chest. I show him all of the feelings I could never articulate through my lips. I try to make every caress, every kiss, be full of love.

But it's not enough.

The monster demands more. I drag my hands through his hair and pull him closer towards me. There's that familiar hunger for Peeta. He deepens his kisses and I try to soak every inch of him up. I stroke his cheeks, his hair, his back. In return, he pulls the tie out of my braid and feels my long, dark hair in his hands. He strokes my back and grips my jaw to tug me closer.

I don't know how long we do that for. Before I know it, Peeta's grazing my neck with his lips. It feels so _good_. The fire ignites and flames course their way throughout my entire being. We collapse on the bed and we continue. He lies me down and gets on all fours above me. I'm kissing Peeta hard as he hovers on top of me when he detaches himself. He lies down beside me, out of breath.

I find myself panting too. The scenery outside went from a drizzling afternoon to a pouring, pitch black sky. Peeta and I both stare up at the ceiling while we both try to catch our breaths.

Every inch of me feels pleased. My lips are tingly and my cheeks feel warm. My arms still pine to wrap around him, and my body craves his touch. I try to slow my heartbeat.

Peeta, still staring up at the ceiling, breathes out, "What was that for?"

_Say it,_ the voice inside of me commands. _Don't be scared. Just say it. Do it._ "What was what?" I ask to stall. My heart thumps once, twice.

A crinkly smile lights up Peeta's face. "That. Those kisses. Everything. Why?"

He wants me to say it. And I want to say it. I want to make him happy in every way. But when I do say it, I just give nature that power to take him away from me. Just like when my father passed and my mom was all alone. If Peeta ever left I'd be more broken then I'd ever be. I'd be the one with the hollow cheeks and empty life. I can just imagine myself as my mother, just lying in bed while my children would starve.

_But Katniss,_ the voice inside of me chides._ You love him. You can't fear live your life. This is what he wants._

But I can't do it. I can't.

Instead of the three words he wants to hear so badly, I turn over onto my side and prop myself up on my elbow. "Because you're what I need. You're what I want."

Peeta twists to look at me too, and he smiles. His lips meet mine again and I surrender once more.

The next morning, the house; _our_ house, feels bright and inviting. No longer unfamiliar and full of bad memories. There's still a light shower of rain outside. The sky is navy and grey but the sun peeks out from behind clouds and greets us hello every once in a while.

I watch him as he cracks two eggs into a bowl. I gaze at him as he turns on the stove and starts to cook them. And my eyes follow him all the way when he places the eggs on a plate and hands them to me.

"What are you looking at?" Peeta asks. He sets down on the space next to me. I'm sitting on one of the kitchen counters, kicking my feet back and forth like a child.

I grin. "You."

I start to pull him in for a kiss but he beats me to it. Our lips collide and I wrap my legs around him.

Last night was heaven. We kissed all night. I stopped him before we could go any further though. I didn't want to risk the factor of children.

"Katniss," he murmurs as I plant kisses on his jawline.

"What?" I mumble.

"The bread is burning," I feel him smile and pull away.

I huff as he laughs and walks towards the oven. He pulls out a loaf of bread that's half blackened. We stare at the crunchy edges, then at each other, and let out long, uncontrollable giggles.

As the laughter shakes throughout my body and my mouth remains in a wide grin, I try to remember the last time I _really_ laughed like this. Maybe once when I dumped a bucket of cold water onto a drunken Haymitch. Or maybe when Prim would say something funny, and draw a chuckle out of me, that only she could do.

But this time, I laughed so hard I felt like I would cry and I didn't have a care in the world. Peeta's cheeks were coloring and he was clutching his sides.

When he would look at me and smile, it's like for a split second everything stops and his grin pierces through all the bad in my life and all is well again.

Later that day, I try to hunt, but Peeta keeps me distracted.

I had opened the door to the hallway closet but Peeta shut it before I could grab my bow and arrows. I raised my eyebrows.

"No, stay," he sighed as he kissed my cheek. He pushed me up against the wall. I felt myself melting. "With me," he whispered.

I couldn't help it. Our lips joined together and we moved to the living room couch.

Everything felt perfect today. We barely accomplished anything besides getting dressed, showering, and eating. I felt like I was full of Peeta. I glanced at myself in the mirror after my shower and I looked radiant. My lips were swollen, but my cheeks were rosy and my skin was glowing. Even my dull eyes were gleaming.

"This is what it was like in the cave," Peeta says as he traces drawings on my back. We're sitting on our porch and watching the downpour. "Cold and rainy, but with lots of kisses."

"Real," I shrug. I remember lying with him in that sleeping bag and absorbing the heat of his fever. I remember how pale he looked and how hollow his cheeks were from hunger. I remember that time, when things were complicated, but not yet a tangled web of a mess, weaved together with Snow's clever mind. "But better."

And I had never said the three words. He had uttered them quite often during the day in between kisses and caresses. I would never respond, and instead I would murmur into his skin and resume my work on his lips.

We decided to review our book. We looked through every page and read every description, and admired every stroke of paint. When we passed Prim, Finnick, and Peeta's father, we were already in tears.

I can't tell him why things are so hard. But they are. So maybe we should just try to be alright with that.

We ended up in our bed and this time I let nature take its course. He was shocked by my decision, but it was the hunger talking. I gave in completely and Peeta was all mine forever. The flame was so bright it turned blue. My entire being felt heated.

**I know this would have happened anyway. That what I need to survive is not Gale's fire, kindled with rage and hatred. I have plenty of fire myself. What I need is the dandelion in the spring. The bright yellow that means rebirth instead of destruction. The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses. That it can be good again. And only Peeta can give me that. **

We're lying in bed. Our window is open halfway. The rain had continued throughout the day, but we didn't mind. We're both staring up at the ceiling, completely out of breath. Peeta twists onto his side to face me. I do the same.

His sapphire-colored eyes are full of love. But there's a question there. "You love me. Real or not real?" He whispers.

I don't hesitate.

"Real."

* * *

So, I guess we are who we are for a lot of reasons.

And maybe we'll never know most of them.

But even if we don't have the power to choose where we come from,

We can still choose where we go from there.

We can still do things.

And we can try to feel okay about them.

* * *

I have a little surprise.. There's ONE more chapter. It's not over yet! I work so hard on this story, and I hope you guys l liked it. Please hit the blue button down there!


	10. Chapter 10

_A Special Note_

_This book is not only dedicated to the loved ones that died that filled every page, but also for my girl that will never come back. My love for you will live forever. You however, did not._

This book is filled with memories of the past. Two of the writers weaved lovely words and paintings filled with loving chapters and remarkably accurate detail about everyone that passed through their difficult lives, but neglected to go in depth about themselves.

The girl was hotheaded, but well-meaning. And strong, especially. A fighter. She was a bursting fire, so hot and full of passion.

The boy was well-meaning, good-natured, and kind. He was well with words, and was a bright boy. He fell in love with the girl on fire, but many didn't know he was on fire himself.

His was a slow, burning fire on coals. When her fire started to die down from wear and tear, he'd ignite it once more with his steady-burning flame. And when he would start to dim, she'd enkindle him once again from her own hearty blaze.

It took time for them to come together. They were both forced to grow up quickly to fill in the roles to lead their, and others' lives out of the bleak, dark period of time. They both came out alive, but were broken in every way.

They were changed not only from tragedy, but broken hearts. Broken hearts destroyed by family members, significant others, or a friend. And after, they rebuilt themselves, but were never quite the same.

They helped to pick themselves up after the nightmares and misleading flashbacks. They kept each others' company, day and night. They only had each other to understand. And with their damaged pieces, they joined together to form a whole again.

And today, I'm about to leave for their wedding.

Signed,

Haymitch Abernathy


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